


With You is Where I'm Most Comfortable

by Miriella



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Rhea mentioned a couple of times, Slight Canon Divergence, Small Golden Deer spoilers, Spoilers for Cyril and Lysithea’s support conversations, Spoilers for Lysithea’s past, Vaginal Sex, no beta we die like men, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-27 12:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriella/pseuds/Miriella
Summary: Lysithea decides to finally reveal her past to Cyril. It turns out he's always been in love with her.





	With You is Where I'm Most Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this trainwreck months ago, and I'm just now getting around to cleaning it up and posting it.
> 
> This fic contains a much-needed additional support conversation for Cyril and Lysithea, taking place after all the others. Post-timeskip. Sexiness included.
> 
> Obvious spoilers for Lysithea's past and some light Golden Deer canon divergence at the beginning.
> 
> Not beta'd so let me know if you see any glaring issues.

As the sun fell to the west near Garreg Mach Monastery on a hot summer day, all the soldiers and constituents of the Alliance returned to their rooms with apprehension. Claude had announced at that evening’s banquet that Edelgard’s forces were setting up a strong defense at the nearby fortress, barring anyone, citizens and military of the Adrestian Empire included, from entering Enbarr. Hilda’s plan to disguise as Empire soldiers would be for naught, much to those at the monastery’s devastation.

“This is why you shouldn’t count on me for a plan! I already told you guys I wasn’t vouching for it.” Hilda shrugged, maintaining her usual apathetic display.

Claude promised his soldiers that he and Byleth would spend all night coming up with some way to get into the imperial capital city. Everyone was left with no other choice but to talk amongst themselves in panic as the Alliance leader and their former professor marched out of the bustling hall.

The callous but intelligent mage, Lysithea von Ordelia, sat at a table in the back with her best friend, Cyril. She was a noble of the Alliance and the most valued magic user under Claude’s guidance, so it was naturally expected of her to sit further up front, and while she would have normally done so, she opted for the darkened back, silently sat in a dusty chair that clearly was never used. Cyril had only spotted her because of his well-trained eyesight, courtesy of Shamir’s endless hours of training, and her long white hair that always neatly ran down her back.

Lysithea fiddled with her hair in annoyance, pinching and tugging as she refused to acknowledge the Almyran man despite his orange eyes piercing into her from across the table.

“Are you alright?” His eyebrows scrunched together in worry.

Her pink eyes wandered around the room aimlessly and she sighed. She turned her attention to him, pulling at her sleeve in discomfort.

“I’m fine.”

It leaked of agitation, but Cyril didn’t back down. After almost everyone had left except for a few stray soldiers, Lysithea spoke up, this time seeming more anxious than annoyed.

“Can you come with me to the library, Cyril? I need to grab some books.”

He cocked his head in confusion at the sudden request. “What do you need the books for? It’s really late.”

She scowled.

“If you’re not coming with me, I’ll be on my way. I don’t have time for this.” Lysithea snapped, causing him to pull his head back in surprise.

This was the way she talked to anyone she didn’t know well, didn’t trust. He would know because he was the victim of all sorts of snide comments from her five years back when he was working for Lady Rhea. She would say, _“You’re in the way”_, _“Can’t you wait until later to mop the halls?”_, and “_You smell terrible. Did you go to the stables?” _

She never picked on him for the country he was from or his dedication for Lady Rhea like some other students had. Because of that, he had grown more irritated with her than anything. He didn’t hate her; she was just an annoying girl who acted like a brat despite being a whole year older than him.

Once they had plenty of unpleasant encounters, Lysithea told him she appreciated his hard work, and Cyril realized her earlier behavior was all an act she put on. Lysithea wasn’t a bad person; she was actually very sweet. She taught him how to read to help him do errands, encouraging him with adorable cheers that were reserved for only him. Once he was able to write well enough, he wrote her letters, telling her how appreciative he was. The only one who had done such a big thing for him before was Lady Rhea, so Lysithea was special. Unlike with Rhea, Cyril didn’t just feel indebted to her. He wanted to be around her all the time and happily stuck by her side once they’d reunited after five years, shame be damned.

Lysithea’s face softened, becoming guilt-ridden. “Sorry,” she spat out as she got up from her chair. She hastily pushed it under the table and left the dining hall through the archway, making a left toward the courtyard. Cyril couldn’t help but follow.

_ _ _

It didn’t take Lysithea long to realize that he was coming along. Despite her callous demeanor, she was grateful he didn’t give up and retreat to his quarters for the night. There was something she wanted to tell him when they got to the library and it would be bothersome for it to have to wait--she’d waited long enough.

She stopped in front of the big door of dark brown wood and turned around to face Cyril, who had been a few paces behind the whole way, silent as an assassin. Lysithea briefly wondered if Shamir had taught him that too.

“I… have a book to show you. There’s something I want to tell you and it should help you understand,” she said quietly.

There was a brief flash of confusion on his face before he nodded.

Cyril moved to open the door first, holding it open for her.

“Ever the gentleman.” She chuckled quietly, stepping into the musty room.

It was dark inside, and all the candles had been put out by then. The library was technically closed but it wasn’t like Lysithea hadn’t done this before. She often stayed up at night doing research there, and quickly moved to the corner where the lantern was. She normally brought her own but wasn’t able to this time. She was determined to not allow her anxieties to get the better of her, surprised they still affected her after doing this for so long.

“It’ll be ok, Ly. I know you’re scared of ghosts. I’ll take ‘em out for ya.” Cyril soothed teasingly before she had gotten there.

She didn’t appreciate his bluntness.

“I’m not scared of ghosts!” She denied in a fit, turning back to him.

He had grown during the five-year gap they hadn’t seen each other, more in width than height, his shoulders cascading outwards proudly. He now stood a few inches taller than her, whereas he had been some shorter before, and though she couldn’t make out his facial features in the dark right now, she remembered they had grown and sharpened into a man’s. She scolded herself with the realization, a blush threatening to erupt in her face.

He rolled his eyes at her. Luckily for him, she couldn’t see. She turned her attention back to the lamp and slowly lit it. The source provided very little light in the room, but it would have to do. Lysithea carried the lantern all the way to the back of the library and her eyes rapidly moved back and forth, scanning the titles of all the books in a squinty manner. As she tilted her head up, she sighed.

“What section is this?” Cyril asked.

“Recent history. I thought it would be down here, but I think it’s further up on the shelf. It’s a shame you aren’t tall enough to get it for me.”

Yes, she knew he was technically taller than her, but he certainly wasn’t as tall as, say, Lorenz or Seteth, so she could still tease him.

The corner of his lips turned up at the obvious jab.

“I would, but I don’t think I would be able to read the titles.” He shrugged. He was baiting for a compliment, which he so desperately wanted from her. Not that he’d ever admit that he really loved her praise.

“Nonsense.” She crossed her arms. “You write full letters to me. You’ve been using complex vocabulary! I’m sure you can read titles as simple as these. You’re so smart, Cyril, and way too hard on yourself.”

He fought to suppress a victory smirk, his insides warming up happily.

“Fine, fine,” he held up his hands in defeat. “Let me look for a ladder. There should be one around here somewhere.”

“Yes, it gets moved around all the time. I’ll look too.” She moved over to one side of the library cautiously, so he went to the other. It was nearly impossible to make out the aisles, even with the light flickering in the back.

Cyril knew that despite Lysithea’s earlier denial, she was afraid of ghosts, ghouls, phantoms, and other like-minded creatures (he personally didn’t believe in their existence but soothed her fears every time). As they searched, Cyril struck up a conversation to lighten the fear he imagined she was facing.

“How’d you feel about the recent news with that impregnable fortress?”

_Damn it, _he cursed internally. _That topic won’t make her feel better._

“I’m sure Claude will think up something.” She answered simply.

He nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see. “Yeah,” he responded lamely.

They spent another half minute in silence before Cyril found the goddess-damned ladder. Good riddance.

“Alright, Ly, here it is.” He lifted it easily, for it wasn’t uncommon for him to carry many heavy objects while he worked during the day.

They met back where they were before. As Cyril steadied the ladder against the splintered wood shelving and jiggled it slightly to make sure it was firmly in place, Lysithea thanked him with a murmur and ascended it impatiently.

Her calves were just a few inches from his face as she scanned the top row of books, the white fabric of her stockings pristine. She smelled faintly of vanilla. He admired how neat and orderly she always was; he’d grown tired of dealing with messy women like Manuela. Cleaning up her room for her after a drunken stupor was always one of his least favorite things to do.

He couldn’t help but allow his eyes to travel up her legs to the lacy hem of her purple dress. Under it, he could easily see pink panties peeking through her sheer stockings. His breath hitched and he blushed in embarrassment as he shifted his eyes elsewhere. Lysithea deserved better than some nobody Almyran boy looking up her dress.

“Shit!” Lysithea cursed in agitation as she dropped a book from the top shelf. The Almyran dodged it clumsily and it made an alarmingly loud thud as it hit the floor. Cyril hoped that no one was around to be disturbed.

“Are you alright?” Lysithea hurriedly got down from the ladder and reached into Cyril’s hair, gently prodding around to check for wounds.

“Um, yeah, I am.” It was a good thing it was dark, because as tan as Cyril may be, he could feel one of the worst blushes of his life spreading across his face.

He backed up from her touch to save face, ruffling his hair and trying to forget how good her hands felt against his scalp, tugging his hair. Unfortunately for him, his mind started escalating the situation in a rather… sexual manner.

_He imagined Lysithea leaning back against the bookshelf, her stockings and panties haphazardly shoved down to her ankles as his face was kissing up her pale thighs that smelled of vanilla and burying itself into the wet heat between them, which had an entirely different and unique smell that he loved. Tasting her was wonderful, the muskiness contributing to his hard-on shamelessly tenting his slacks. Her hands gripped his hair desperately, transitioning back and forth between yanking and pulling his hair, and gently massaging his scalp, silently encouraging him to continue--_

Cyril abruptly came back from reality with the startling realization that she had inched her face closer to his to study him in his decadent daze. “Ah, fuck, I gotta go, Lysithea!” He huffed, turning away and abruptly leaving the short girl to wonder what the hell was going on with him.

He rubbed his neck awkwardly as he made haste back to his room, adjusting his pants for the discomfort that had grown in them.

When he got back, he did as any man would have done with thoughts such as those and slipped his hand into his pants to impatiently stroke himself to completion. He was ashamed and embarrassed but allowed himself to continue his dream scenario in his head.

_He would love giving her what she wanted. The only negative thing about it would be that the sounds of her soft moans and gasps were muffled with her legs squeezing his head. As he lapped at her folds and listened to her come undone with a whine and a painful grip in his hair, he would suck on her nub to allow her orgasm to intensify, relishing in the way her body spasmed against him. Only when she was truly finished and satisfied would she release his hair and tell him he was a good boy._

_She would remove her dress completely for him to see her small pale breasts with beautifully contrasting pink nipples. She was as beautiful as he imagined the Goddess herself to be. More beautiful than Rhea. She would turn around and bend over to display her ass and swollen pussy, stretching her folds with her fingers in an inviting way with a challenging and commanding glint in her eyes that could make him come right there--_

He grunted as he came, his brows scrunched at the debauched imagery. He sighed at the early climax, frustrated he couldn’t finish his dream, and wiped his hand on his pants, cursing himself for leaving Lysithea behind so abruptly in the library. She’d told him she had something important to show him. He was _such_ an ass. He’d have to write her an apology letter and slip it under her door tomorrow.

It was five years ago when Cyril had realized he had feelings for Lysithea, and he was determined to keep it a secret. He was just a boy back then, but he knew that an Almyran commoner had no place with an Alliance noble. She had told him that she was an only child--there was no way her parents would approve. Still, though, he selfishly wondered if it could work out.

In the last six months since they’d reunited, his feelings only intensified, causing him to touch himself with thoughts of her nearly every night. This time was the first time he’d sported an erection in front of her, and while he was sure she didn’t see, it was so mortifying to imagine what would happen if she had. He didn’t want to ruin their friendship. He really didn’t want to lose her.

While they were apart, they sent each other letters back and forth. He had stayed at the monastery and served the remaining knights while they searched for Lady Rhea and she had gone back to Ordelia territory to be with her parents. She told him that she wanted to spend time with them while she still could. He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and had asked, but she didn’t answer when she’d written the next letter.

Despite all the correspondence, Cyril missed her and wanted her at the monastery with him. He knew it was a selfish thought that wouldn’t come to fruition. To replace the emptiness, he sought out secretly “borrowing” the smutty romance novels he’d found by accident in Manuela’s room one day while tidying. He took one at a time out of her room, so she’d hopefully not notice. He almost bragged to Lysithea in a letter that he had started reading books, but shamefully decided against it because she’d surely ask the names of them.

The stories were low-quality and cheap. He could tell because he’d seen enough passages of magic books Lysithea had studied and knew what really intelligent books read like—these were not it. Still, though, he couldn’t tear his eyes off them. He pictured himself as Lysithea’s lover and learned all sorts of tips and tricks and positions—the names of all the lady parts, too. The knowledge would be useful someday with some girl, he’d decided, even it if would never happen with Lysithea.

Cyril went to take a quick bath and then fell asleep in fresh clothing, removing thoughts of the mage from his mind the best he could. He failed, tossing and turning with growing frustration and arousal most of the night. _What was he, fifteen?_

_ _ _

Lysithea crossed her arms and tapped her index finger against her jaw in frustration. She didn’t appreciate Cyril ditching her. Did he not care what she had to tell her?

No. She wasn’t stupid.

She figured he had run back to his room because he wasn’t feeling well. The book she dropped probably did hit him on the head and the boy was denying it. Hopefully he would feel better the next day.

The small woman bent down to pick up the book and lazily opened it. It resembled more a journal than a book with a binding tied with rope and sloppily scribbled handwriting. Luckily, from having to interpret Cyril’s old handwriting, it wasn’t an issue for her.

A smile ghosted her lips as she closed the book with a definitive slap. She left the room with it in hand, unenthusiastically abandoning the lantern because she couldn’t take it with her. She would have to return to her room alone, with no light source. She’d done it many times before because she was always forgetting to bring one with her, but she was still going to kick Cyril’s ass tomorrow.

Either way, she would have to deal with him in the manner she felt most _appropriate._

_ _ _

Cyril groaned when he heard a sharp knock on the door four times. He was running on low sleep and despite being a morning bird last night’s escapade left him tense. Not only that, but he was able to recognize it was Lysithea behind the door immediately. Every time she was at his door, she knocked exactly four times. It never changed.

He attempted to finger-comb his hair into what he hoped was a neater look as he headed straight from his bed to the door, opening it with a tired arm.

“Wow, you were still asleep?” The girl asked as she brushed past him and sat on his bed, crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap with a plastered-on smile.

He closed the door and scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“There’s no need for that! I know you aren’t feeling well.”

He gulped. Was that why she was acting so giddy? She knew? It took less than five seconds for him to flush.

“Ugh, you’re burning up, too!” She stood with concern. “Come sit down, please?”

Cyril was worried his wobbly legs would fail him as he made it for the bed a few feet away. Lysithea knew everything, he figured. He should probably come clean, even if it was embarrassing to do so. Before he could tell her the truth with a couple of white lies sprinkled in (that she’d most likely know about immediately), She pulled two teabags out of her breast pocket.

“I brought you some Almyran pine needle tea to apologize for the way I… treated you yesterday.”

He raised his brows. He really didn’t deserve such a wonderful friend.

“I know it wasn’t like me.”

He shook his head. “I could tell you were really stressed. What’s going on with you, Ly?”

She fidgeted for a moment and then plastered a second forced smile on her face. She pulled a book from the hem of her skirt.

“Read this while I’m out making the tea. I’ll explain when I get back.” She laid the thin book on his lap and got up to leave.

“Hey, Lysithea?” She turned to him. “Thanks for checking on me. I’m alright.”

She smiled, genuinely this time.

“Aww, did my presence make you _‘bappy’_?”, she teased.

He rolled his eyes and shooed her in embarrassment. She laughed and left the room.

Much to his humiliation, Lysithea had spent months leading him to believe that ‘bappy’ was how the word ‘happy’ was spelled. He had made the mistake in the first letter he wrote her, and she never corrected him, even encouraging the spelling. She began to write ‘bappy’ at some point in each of her letters and he did the same. He should have known that a word beginning with that sound couldn’t be spelled with a ‘b’, but he just figured that was another grammatical exception to the Fódlan language, which was littered with them. He had complained about it ad nauseum to Petra and she agreed with him.

As upset as he may have seemed, he really wasn’t. He thought it was comfortable the way she teased him, almost charming, and that’s why he never put a stop to it.

Cyril was lost in thoughts about the past again, just like last night. He wasn’t sure how long it had been but cursed when he remembered he was supposed to be reading the book she had left him. He wondered what it would say--its contents were enough to make her nervous last night, and that made him nervous too.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in and opened to the first page.

_Imperial Year 1167 – House Hrym’s Revolt Against the Empire _

House Hrym? He’d never heard of that house before. He wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about Fódlan dynasties but decided to read on.

_House Hrym had attempted to defect from the Empire and join the Alliance. House Ordelia provided them aid. The Adrestian Empire succeeded in wiping out the members of the Hrym family. House Ordelia was then punished for aiding them._

_Ordelia was Lysithea’s last name_, Cyril remembered. _How were they punished?_

He flipped to the next page in an attempt to get more information but found that the rest of the pages in the journal were blank.

Lysithea conveniently entered the room at that moment, setting the tea down on Cyril’s end table. Her face was completely devoid of emotion, and it sent chills down his spine that turned his blood cold. He knew he had to bring up the subject, but it was terrifying to do so because he feared he would say the wrong thing.

“Ly, come here,” he beckoned to her, encouraging her to abandon the tea and sit on his bed. She stared down at her lap quietly.

He stroked her arm with his thumb. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Did you read it?”

“Yeah.”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“When I was two, my siblings and I were kidnapped by some mages that worked with the Empire.”

His eyes darted from her face to her fidgeting hands. She continued.

“They performed all sorts of horrible experiments on us,” she sobbed, the sound tearing his heart open. “My siblings all died except for me. I was left with two crests and a shortened lifespan.”

His eyes widened. “_Shortened lifespan?” _

“A doctor told me I only have a few years to live,” she whispered.

_What_? Cyril wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly and asked her to repeat herself. Devastation followed when she said exactly what he thought she had.

“Where were your parents during this?” He asked, panic rising in his body and his grip on her arm tightening.

“They were being held captive at our home. I’m grateful they were able to survive at least.” Her eyes were vacant; the sore sight convinced him to pull her into a hug.

“I…can’t believe this,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to protect you.”

“Of course you couldn’t have been,” she laughed bitterly. “You were only a year old.”

He sighed. “I know, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

Silence had followed as the two eyed each other. Lysithea’s defeated expression had something more to it, like a sort of calm. He couldn’t believe she could be _calm_ about this!

“You’re the first person here that I’ve told,” she whispered. “Do you know why?”

He felt desperate. “Lysithea, I don’t want you to die. Come on, there has to be _something_ that can be done.”

“Unless if someone is able to remove one of my crests, there isn’t.”

She pulled his face toward her, the warmth of her hands radiating comfortingly against the biting cold on his cheek.

“Cyril, I told you all of this because I trust you more than anyone.”

Those words would have touched him, would have excited him, if he didn’t feel so damn devastated. If she was laying her past out on the table to him, the least he could do was be honest with her.

“I love you,” he whispered, hand absently smoothing the silk of her dress on her thigh.

“You do?” She asked, and he was more assuredly about to take it back, about to regret it, but she pulled his face in to give him one of the most gentle kisses he ever could have imagined. Her fingers smoothed over the subtle stubble on his jaw and his hand snaked around her waist. The kiss was soft and sweet and so full of emotion. He let her lips melt against his, hardly moving in response because he feared it would all be over too soon. It was.

She pulled away, studying his face with a frown. “You’re not happy?”

“No—I am! I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Just _kiss me._” She spat impatiently, and he grabbed her arms with purpose as he pulled her into him.

Their lips locked and all sorts of emotions started to bubble within him again.

Joy, Sadness, Love, Comfort.

He finally understood what she wanted; she wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her.

Their hands explored each other’s bodies at a pace they both could hardly keep up with. She tore off his shirt insistently to explore more of him.

“Lysithea,” he gasped as she planted kissed along his jaw. He felt a familiar rush of heat shoot to his groin.

“Yes?” She responded, raking blunt nails down his arms.

“I-ah!” He let out an unexpected wail when she suddenly clutched his hardness.

“Cyril, I want you to make love to me,” she admitted, the romantic words doing wonders to his body as his erection hardened even more painfully.

He froze up, suddenly forgetting the content of all the sexy novels he read. What was he supposed to do next?

“All right, um… I don’t know where to begin,” he murmured abashedly.

She laughed at his nervousness. “You’re so cute.”

“N-no, I’m not!” His blush had surely reached down his neck, hitting his collarbone.

“I’ll lead then. I would prefer to, anyway,” she spoke in a voice so uncharacteristically sultry that he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. She stood up and slowly began to strip herself from her clothing, her gaze not breaking from his. She wasn’t joking.

He unzipped his pants in response to try to ease some of the pressure he felt because it had started to get uncomfortable. As she lifted her undershirt to reveal her small perky breasts, he couldn’t help but slip a hand in his smallclothes to grasp himself, gasping softly at the feeling.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” She asked, a tone so full of authority that it made his throat tighten and his pulse quicken. He remained silent, pulling his hand out.

“Well, did I?” Lysithea approached him in nothing but her tights, panties visible through the fabric again.

“No,” he responded with the shame of a schoolchild who had been caught cheating on a test.

“Then I expect you to apologize.” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the nubs that had been visible just before. “Take off my tights and panties.”

He did so wordlessly, pulling the hem of the tights down slowly to reveal milky white thighs before leaving a chaste kiss on the inside of one of them.

He looked up at her and she nodded. That was all he needed to convince himself to continue what he was doing, knelt on the floor as she stood over him and he kissed up her legs. His breath ghosted through the fabric of her underwear. His lips parted and he pressed a firm kiss to her clit, hearing a sharp intake of breath above him before she snaked her hands though his hair encouragingly. He enjoyed the feeling of her nails scraping his scalp briefly before she pulled his face back against her impatiently. He smiled against her, lapping at her entrance through her damp panties before allowing them to fall around her ankles too. _The carpets did match the drapes_, Cyril noted, admiring the patch of white hair around her perfect pink pussy.

Cyril dove in instantly, wanting to please her. What he lacked in experience he more than doubled in enthusiasm, giving every part of her the attention she ached for. She responded just as he’d imagined she would, crying out with a harsh grip on his brown locks as she reached her orgasm, refusing to let go for a moment as she enjoyed several seconds of overstimulation, all her muscles convulsing.

“All right,” she gasped as she released him, his head snapping down in surprise. She cupped his face, sleek with her wetness, with a delicate hand, admiring him. “You look so beautiful like this,” she smiled. “You were so good for me.”

He beamed with pride, loving that he was able to satisfy her more than anything. His cock still ached in his smallclothes but pleasing her was enough for him. Relishing in her touch was enough.

“Oh, right,” she tapped her fingers on her chin thoughtfully, gazing at his unfinished situation before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Lay down.”

Cyril did so enthusiastically, finding himself in the position she wanted in a mere few seconds. She chuckled at his fervor as she wordlessly kicked her remaining clothes off her feet and then straddled his hips, grinding softly at his cock. He gasped at the sudden feeling.

Lysithea pulled his smallclothes to his knees before stroking him gently, putting extra focus in twisting at his head. “Does this feel good?” She asked teasingly.

“Y-yes,” he sputtered. It was dry but the friction was more than he could have ever hoped for. She released him suddenly and he whined at the loss.

“I’ve never done this before, so be patient with me,” she warned, lining the head of his cock with her entrance.

“Of course,” he soothed. “I… haven’t either.” He gripped her thighs perhaps a bit too hard in anticipation as she lowered herself onto him with a sharp exhale. He threw his head back, eyes nearly rolling up into the back of his head. She had paused halfway down his shaft, wincing, and his arousal immediately took a back seat to check on her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “It’s just so much. It’s a little uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, we can stop—”

“No,” she answered as she placed a hand on his chest to keep him steady, her authoritative voice taking control.

He nodded wordlessly, drawing comforting circles in the flesh of her waist.

“Goddess, Cyril, you’re so big,” she gritted as she lowered herself the rest of the way, and he reveled in the way her tight heat consumed his cock, letting out an unabashed moan at the sight. “Be still for me.”

Lysithea began to ride him shallowly, and he watched patiently, resisting bucking up into her and hurting her. Soon her look of discomfort gave way to one of pleasure, and she moaned haplessly as she grinded against him.

“You’re such a good boy, Cyril,” she gasped. “You just lay there and take my pussy.”

He groaned as her name reverberated from his throat, pleasure etched in his features. She began to ride him more confidently, taking him from the head to the base. She would be a bit sore afterwards, but it was a small price to pay to see him beneath her, pleasuring her with his cock.

“Lysithea, can I move?” He groaned. He wasn’t sure he could be still much longer.

“Yes, you’ve earned it,” she smiled, and Cyril honestly thought she looked beautiful with her white hair stuck to the sides of her face with sweat.

He thrusted up into her, and the feeling was better than she could describe. “My Almyran man,” she moaned, “I’m going to come again.” The endearing nickname shocked him, sending him over the edge.

“Me too,” he just barely pushed out before he saw black as rope after rope of white filled her warm cavern, and she shuddered at the extended feeling of her second orgasm as she continued to ride him.

He trembled and writhed beneath her, the sensitivity too much to bear. Having sympathy for him, Lysithea lifted herself off him and settled against his chest.

“That was amazing,” he was the first to speak amongst their gasps.

“You were so good for me,” she praised, stroking his chest with her fingertips.

“I’m glad,” he admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I really like it when you tell me stuff like that.”

“Oh, really?” She arched a brow, teasing face leaning in to peck him on the cheek. “I saw how you reacted when I called you _my Almyran man.”_

He blushed furiously in response, and that was all she needed to let her know to do it again next time.

_Next time._ Her stomach twisted, her face turning serious.

“Cyril, I have an important question for you, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re under any obligation to say yes.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “All right,” he nodded.

“Will you spend the rest of my life with me?”

The sudden boldness of the question had him coughing, sitting up, and wheezing. She circled a hand on his back as she nervously awaited his answer.

“I mean, I only have a couple years left to live, so it isn’t _that_ much of a commitment!” She defended.

Pain soured his chest, not from coughing, but her words.

“Hey, Lysithea?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s talk to Hanneman tomorrow and ask him about your crests. Maybe there is something he can do.”

“I don’t think it will help, but all right. I’ll do it for you,” she sighed.

He held her hand. “I want to spend _more_ than just a couple of years with you.”

The realization of the meaning of his words dawned on her, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I see. Then, yes, let’s go talk to him tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> That wraps it up! Feel free to comment, leave kudos, or whatever your crest-hating hearts desire.


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